All I Want for Christmas Is a Real Good Tan
by Amy-Violet
Summary: A Blam fluff piece inspired by Chord Overstreet's Christmas song (and Wham!).


Blaine gently shakes his boyfriend's shoulder. "Sam? Time to get up, Sammy."

Sam pulls the comforter up over his ear and mumbles something incoherent.

"Come on, Sammy. You have to get up now so we can be on time for brunch."

Sam mumbles again, but this time Blaine can make out what he's saying: "Being on time is overrated."

"Yeah, maybe, but we promised Rachel we'd make it on time at least once this year, and this is practically our last chance."

Blaine keeps jostling his shoulder, which makes it really hard to actually fall back asleep. At least being awake makes it easier to think of an argument. "But not _actually_ our last chance," he points out. "Besides, resolutions are for the beginning of the year, not the end. The first Sunday in January we'll definitely be on time."

Blaine can see that discussing the matter is not leading anywhere and decides more direct action is needed. He grabs the covers and yanks them off.

Sam just stares up at him in shock for several seconds before letting out a hurt and offended, "Blaine!"

Blaine feels like he just kicked a puppy. "I'm sorry, Sammy!" he says as he hastens to put the blankets back and tuck Sam back in.

"It's cold out there in the real world!" Sam complains, even though he's all snug again. But, damn! It's freezing in their apartment, which just means that going outside is going to be a thousand times worse. With the blanket pulled up almost to his eyes he dares to glance at the window, and it's as he suspected. "Frost! The window's frosted up, that means I'm not leaving this bed!"

Blaine sits on the edge of the bed. "I know, baby, but we live in New York. We can't just stay in bed all day any time it's cold."

"No, but we can if it's a Sunday and we don't have work or school."

"But then we wouldn't have gone ice skating. That was fun, right?"

"Yeah, ice skating was fun. Brunch with Kurt and Rachel isn't...I mean, it isn't ice skating."

Blaine is silent because he can't argue. Brunch with Kurt and Rachel is not, in fact, ice skating.

"I mean, they're our friends, and it's not that they aren't super fun, obviously. I mean, watching Kurt try to win you back from me, that's, like, buttloads of fun."

"You know I would never..."

Sam actually braves the cold air on one arm to reach out and take Blaine's hand. "Yeah, of course I know. It's just painful to watch because...I mean, I feel really bad for him, losing you. If I were in his place I'd be trying to win you back too. And Rachel, I mean... I know that we're supposed to be grateful to Rachel for spending time with us little people now that she's a big Broadway star, but, like, to call constant mandatory gratefulness fun?"

"Sammy." Blaine touches Sam's cheek.

"Your fingers are like ice, dude!"

"Dude?"

"Hey, you wanna hear something a very wise man once sang to me?"

Blaine smiles indulgently. "Sure."

Sam doesn't often sing while lying in bed, but in this case it seems warranted. "Cuddle up, baby, move in tight. We'll go da-... uh, brunching tomorrow night. It's cold out there, but it's warm in bed. They can brunch, we'll stay home inste-e-ead!" He lifts the covers invitingly.

Blaine rolls his eyes, but he climbs into bed. "Using my own guilty pleasure song against me!" he mutters. Sam's right, though: being in bed is way cozier than not. He rests his head on Sam's shoulder, accepting the fact that they're going to be late. Again. However, he's not willing to give in entirely. "We still have to go, you know. We can't stay here all day."

"Are you sure?" Sam asks. He works his hand under Blaine's t-shirt and strokes his side and back. "I can make it worth your while."

"Yeah, I'm sure you can, but..." Blaine struggles to come up with a way to finish that sentence. Honestly, Sam's suggestion sounds a lot more worthwhile than brunch with Kurt and Rachel.

"That's what I thought!" Sam announces triumphantly. He lets his hand slide down over Blaine's sleep pants.

"But this is Kurt's last chance to 'subtly' probe us for Christmas gift ideas!" Blaine remembers.

Sam stills his hand where it is, cupping one of Blaine's butt cheeks. "Is that why he keeps asking what we're 'into' these days?"

"Yeah, and it's why 'buttsex' was a spectacularly inappropriate response."

Sam happens to think it was a perfect response. "He doesn't think I'm gay enough for you! I don't think he thinks we're even sleeping together."

"Well, I bet he does now," Blaine says, giggling to himself at the recollection of Kurt's shocked expression. "Anyway, he's trying." Blaine believes this is mostly true.

"No, I know. And it's not like I don't wanna be friends with him and Rachel anymore. But, like...I mean, we have to exchange Christmas presents with him too? He obviously doesn't know what to get us and I don't know what to get him and I wouldn't have any money to get him anything he'd probably like even if I did know what it was and anyway there's nothing he could get me because there's only one thing I want."

"Aw! Is it me?"

Sam scoffs. "No."

Blaine sits up abruptly. "No!?"

"Because I already have you!" Sam coaxes Blaine back down onto his chest. "You said so yourself, and I'm holding you to it!"

"That is true," Blaine concedes. "So what is the one thing—in addition to me, who you already have—that you want for Christmas?"

Sam closes his eyes, picturing it. "A real...good...tan," he says with a little sigh.

"Uh..." Of all the things Blaine might have guessed Sam would answer, _a tan_ is definitely not one of them. "What? Like a session at a tanning booth or something? Did you get turned down for a modeling job because someone said you were too pale? That's a load of bull, because you actually look perfect!"

"No, nothing like that. Just...wouldn't it be awesome? If you and me could go away to some tropical island for Christmas and just lay in the sun all day?"

"Oh. Well, yeah, that would be totally awesome."

"We wouldn't have to wear our winter clothes anymore..."

"What winter clothes?" Blaine asks, peeking under the sheet at Sam's bare chest. "You're wearing nothing but boxers. Probably why you're so cold."

"Yeah, but it wouldn't it be great if we didn't _have_ to wear anything but boxers to stay warm? Or, you know, Speedos or something?"

"That would be amazingly great," Blaine agrees, because, yeah, Sam in a Speedo!

"I could rub some oil on you," Sam adds. He even demonstrates under Blaine's shirt, though just with his bare hands. "And you could rub some on me."

"Mmm," is all Blaine can say in response.

"Don't you think it's a pretty good plan?"

"Mmm..." Blaine repeats. Sam is still rubbing his chest, and his hands feel really good. Still, Blaine feels like he has to point out, "It sounds good for sure, I'm just not sure it works as an actual plan."

"Because we don't have any money for a trip," Sam says with a heavy sigh.

"Well. Right." Blaine's family is not actually as rich as everyone seems to think, and what his parents do have, they don't give to him for tropical vacations with his boyfriend. "But we don't need to take a trip! What are the things you said you'd like about being on an island? No winter clothes? Done! You're already not wearing any. Oil?" Blaine rolls over and rummages around in the drawer of the nightstand for a minute before producing a small bottle of Kama Sutra massage oil. "I'd rather rub this on you than Hawaiian Tropic any day."

Sam bites his lip. "Yeah, you can't even lick off Hawaiian Tropic. I know because my mom yelled at me once when I tried it."

"Why did she even let you put Hawaiian Tropic on in the first place? Kids shouldn't use suntan oil."

"I didn't try to lick it off myself, I tried to lick it off my mom."

"Your mom!? Sammy...ew!"

"Hey, her skin smelled like coconuts. Also I was like three."

"Oh. Okay. Still, I'm glad she made you stop."

"Yeah, I probably would've been poisoned. And then I wouldn't be here with you, trying to decide if I can live without a tan as long as I can have nudity and oil massages."

"You really have to think about it, huh? You shouldn't get a tan anyway."

"Why not? Skin cancer?"

"Skin cancer, yes, but also it's not even the best color for you."

"What's the best color for me? My normal paleness? Aw, you love me just the way I am!"

"I do love you just the way you are," Blaine confirms, and he snuggles up extra close and gives Sam a soft kiss. "But your normal paleness isn't the _best_ color for you."

"No? Then what is?"

"No one's ever told you about your splotches?"

"Splotches? No! That doesn't sound attractive at all."

"No, it is! You get these red splotches on your face and your chest right after you come, and you look so gorgeous, Sammy. Like, it's cute when you blush like you're doing now, but your blushing has nothing on your splotches."

"I do not blush!" Sam objects, cheeks getting redder even as he denies it.

"You do, and it's adorable."

"And I definitely don't get any so-called splotches."

"You do!"

"Oh yeah? Why don't you prove it?"

Okay, Blaine realizes he walked right into this. But it doesn't mean he's averse to the idea. Especially if... "You'll let me take a picture of you?"

"Oh! Uh..."

"Because otherwise you'll have to get up out of bed right away to look in the mirror before the splotches wear off. They don't last long at all."

"Uh...okay, but just of my face!"

Blaine smiles and rolls on top on Sam. He kisses him—his mouth, his neck, that one spot just behind his ear—grinding all the while until he can feel that Sam is good and hard under him. Unfortunately Blaine gets hard too in the process, but he tries to ignore that: this is strictly about getting Sam to come so Blaine can prove he gets splotches. He waits until Sam is moaning, until he's pulling Blaine in to grind against him harder, before he rolls off. Sam whines at the loss of contact, but it's only long enough for Blaine to pull Sam's boxers off. Well, and to pull his own t-shirt off, because the room feels kind of warm now, actually. He climbs back on top of Sam, sitting on his thighs this time.

"Your dick turns a beautiful shade of red too," Blaine informs him, admiring it for a second before touching it. "But that's before you come, not after. And it isn't splotchy."

"Not letting you take a picture of my dick," Sam says.

"Grinch!" Blaine says, but he's only joking. What does he care for a picture when he can actually touch the real thing right now? He reaches down and does just that, gently, but it's enough to make Sam gasp softly.

Blaine is really good with his hands. Often Sam has to work at not enjoying Blaine's hands _too_ much, like if there's a main event to save himself for. But right now Blaine stroking him is the main event, and it's awesome. Blaine seems to know just where to touch him and when, and when to grip him a little harder, and when to speed up a little. Sam isn't even half as good at doing this to himself.

As much as Blaine likes Sam's cock, what he's actually looking at most is Sam's face. Sam tries to maintain eye contact with him at first, but soon his eyes close, and then they scrunch tight. He starts licking and then biting his lower lip. Blaine has one hand on Sam's balls, and just as he feels them start to tighten, he sees Sam's lips start to move, mouthing the words silently for a moment before he says them out loud: "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" Blaine doesn't even look at the gushes of come that he knows are painting his boyfriend's washboard abs right now; instead he watches one big red splotch appear on his boyfriend's left cheek and two small ones on his right cheek. It's so mesmerizing that he almost forgets (but doesn't!) to grab his phone off the table and snap a couple pictures before they fade. Only then does he glance at Sam's chest, which is as splotchy as his face and streaked with as much come as his abs.

Sam opens his eyes and looks at the photo on the phone Blaine is holding in front of his face. "Oh! I, uh...see what you mean."

"Mm-hmm!"

Sam studies the picture more closely. Even if his hair weren't all messed up and even if there weren't a pillow visible under his head, there's something about the look on his face that makes it super obvious what _just_ happened right before the photo was taken. "You won't show this to anyone, right?"

Blaine rolls off of Sam and onto his side next to him. Nuzzling against Sam's neck he says, "No, of course not. I'd really like to keep it just for me, but I'll delete it if it makes you uncomfortable."

"You can keep it if you want. Even though I look like a total wreck."

"Yeah." Blaine presses his hand to Sam's still-warm chest. "I love it when you look wrecked like this." He lifts himself up on one elbow and places a quick kiss on Sam's forehead. "We really do need to get dressed and get going now, baby."

"What? Nooo!" Sam pulls Blaine close against his chest. "No, you know I'm always sleepy after you make me come."

Blaine does know this. It's a fact he really should have taken into consideration earlier. "No, come on, Sam. Once you get moving that sleepy feeling will wear off."

"But I don't want it to wear off," Sam whines. Sensing that pouting might not be his best tactic, he decides to take a different approach. He shifts his thigh so it will rub against Blaine's bulge and suggests, "Besides, it feels like you have a situation I could take care of."

"I'm fine," Blaine insists, moving away. He is fine. Or...he will be. His "situation" will go away, just like Sam's sleepiness.

"But, Blaine. You only half delivered on your Christmas promise."

Blaine thinks about that for a minute but has no idea what Sam means. "Huh?"

"You promised nudity and oil massages, but you didn't use the oil."

"But...I mean, it's not even Christmas yet!"

"Maybe not..." Sam rolls them over so Blaine is mostly under him. "...but I'll use the oil on you..." He kisses a path down Blaine's chest to the waistband of his sleep pants. "...if we can skip brunch." He slides his hand over the sleep pants and presses it against Blaine's erection.

"Mmm..." Blaine shouldn't give in. It's just...it's really tempting.

Sam presses harder and rubs a little. "Come on. Let me call Kurt and make some excuse."

"No!" Blaine says, and he nudges Sam's hand away. He'd much rather let it stay there, but he can't...he just can't trust Sam to make an excuse that isn't too...honest. He finds his phone and makes the call himself. "Hey, Rachel...Yeah...No, we...Hey, look, I'm really sorry and I know it's short notice, but, well, Sam's feeling totally under the weather today...I mean, we could come anyway, but if you caught something that might mess up your voice...Yeah, I think it's best too...Okay, yeah, see you next week." He hangs up and moves Sam's hand back where it was.


End file.
